


The Serpent

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-22
Updated: 2006-03-22
Packaged: 2019-01-19 20:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12417330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: A chronicle of Narcissa's time while she was pregnant with Draco, examining her relationship with Lucius and her own self doubt. Even for a Malfoy, life is never easy.





	The Serpent

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**A/N:** This idea popped into my head one day, and I couldn't help but write it. I do have a weakness for canon pairings--this one is obviously Narcissa/Lucius. Something about them fascinates me, and I really enjoyed taking a break from the light side. There should be about four more chapters, so enjoy!

\-- 

**Middle of September, 1979**

\-- 

Narcissa Malfoy closed her eyes sleepily, allowing the man next to her to pull her body into his. The cold air bit her shoulders, but the warmth of Lucius warded off a set of shivers that might have wracked her body had she been alone. Narcissa felt him stir as he yawned, and turned to face him, ruffling the cool, crisp sheets as she did so. His cold, steely grey eyes glinted in the dark and his platinum blond hair was swept across his forehead. She brushed her fingers against it absent mindedly.

“So,” Lucius said, and Narcissa felt his hands snake around her body to touch her stomach. The warmth in his touch was gone, as soon as it had flared; and her skin prickled. “Do you think you’re finally pregnant?”

Finally. The word stung her like salt. “Mmhmm,” she nodded, tensing up and digging her long nails into the flesh on her arms, ignoring the sharp sting. She hoped with every fiber of her being that she was right, though the nagging sense of doubt still sat in bed with the couple like a shadow. It had been like this since June---a moment of hope, followed by weeks of uncertainty and finally the crashing fall of defeat. Lucius would hold her as she sobbed; rock her back and forth, but his patience as well as her own was wearing thin and with each time the feeling behind his hands was impatient, coldly furious. He would never say and never admit it, but she saw it in the frustration in which he admired the pregnant belly of the other women, thrust out for all to admire their wealth of femininity. Narcissa had studied her own stomach on countless occasions, lying down and praying for it to rise and swell with a babe, but to no avail. They would console her, while sitting tired and awkward in a chair, fanning their sweat soaked faces with a hand that was equally plump; offering charms and advice, but Narcissa would have none of it. Her mother had birthed three healthy young girls---albeit one who had married a mudblood, but there were always exceptions---and even Andromeda had given birth to a child as she’d heard. Certainly, it was possible.

“I should like to have only two children,” Lucius continued, painfully and falsely oblivious like possibility of seven loomed on the horizon. I should like to have one, Narcissa thought bitterly, yet she nodded in silence. “Two would….be a good number, dear,” she said tucking her face behind a lock of her long hair. Their children would indeed be beautiful with flaxen curls and rosy cheeks and Lucius’ beautiful eyes. “Goodnight,” he murmured, and she felt his grip loosen on her as he turned on his side, punching the pillow; his pale, strong back staring at her as empty and blank as the moon. Narcissa sighed, and tugged the quilt from the bottom of her bed up to her chin, and wishing for another layer, or at least for Lucius to close the window. The manor was awfully drafty this time of year, and her husband’s affection for fresh air jarred her own distaste of the cold painfully on these types of nights. And yet…the rhythm of his breathing was steady and deep, perhaps he was asleep. Yes, she was sure of it now, his eyes were relaxed and the lines on his face set in place from his line of work were smoothed. Narcissa rose quietly, not wanting to wake him, but made no attempt to cover herself; bare feet treading across the worn wooden floor. She imagined the way she looked at the moment, ethereally bathed in the pale light of the moon as she shut the window ever so slightly, keeping it open enough so that Lucius would not grow uncomfortable and know that she’d done so. She let her hands on her barren plain of a stomach, willing the beginnings of life to sprout there as she studied the cool night sky. Narcissa shook her pretty blonde head, and crawled beneath the sheets again, alighting on the bed ever so softly. If there was anything she had learned, it was that hope seemed to kill whatever chance she ever had of creating a child. It would be better to forget for now and sleep peacefully. There had been one time where she had been sure…but all she’d given birth to were streaming ribbons of sticky, dark blood after three months. Her mother had said that it was an encouraging sign that she could at least conceive---but it didn’t feel that way. It felt like something had ripped away her child and what was worse was that it was her own body that had done it. Narcissa slammed her eyes shut, blocking out the worn tapestry that adorned the far stone wall. It had been there since she had moved into the Malfoy Manor a year ago, a brilliant, sprawling tribute to the history and purity of the family, to which she had been recently stitched in gold. A thin line stitched her between Lucius Malfoy that she could trace in her sleep. Sleep…Narcissa glanced over at Lucius as he turned in his sleep, his chest rising and falling. She gently lifted one of his arms, placing it around her shoulders and laid her head exhaustedly on one of his broad shoulders. The stars were bright tonight.

When Narcissa awoke the next morning, her bed was as wide and open as a field. She stirred; stretching contently at the soft sun filtering through the curtains--no doubt drawn by the house elf after Lucius had left for work. It was hard to believe another week had passed. Shrugging into her nightgown and dressing gown, Narcissa tentatively stepped outside of her bedroom and into the painfully empty house.

“Dobby!” she called, her voice more self assured and confident than she expected. Her fingers played absentmindedly with the sash on her robe, feeling the smooth silk slip between her fingers like water. There was a sudden crash of crockery—no doubt in the kitchen, Narcissa struggled to keep her temper—and a small child-like being skidded into her vision, panting slightly.

“Dobby is sorry about the plate, Mistress; Dobby will iron his hands later,” he said pleadingly, wringing long, brittle fingers. 

“That will do, Dobby,” she sniffed disdainfully. “And I would like some tea, please.”

Dobby nodded dutifully, bowing in an elegant gesture that left his long, pencil like nose brushed the floor. Narcissa waved a hand impatiently and he vanished with a loud crack, but instead of retiring into her bedchamber again, she padded down the stairs lightly, wanting to inspect whatever damage Dobby had done to her wedding china. No doubt it could be remedied with magic---most broken things could. She did so when she saw the cracked plate across her kitchen floor, replacing it unthinkingly in a cabinet with the rest of the blue patterned-porcelain. It really was beautiful---looking even better when laid in place on a table. The china always reminded her of her wedding, so flawless and elegant and utterly perfect in every aspect. Lord Voldemort himself had attended the reception, a shining beacon of the Malfoy’s power and influence. He’d spoken of Lucius as one of his most loyal and benevolent followers, a true advocate for wizardry. Beaming with pride, she had squeezed his hand at the words, watching the muscles in new husband’s strong jaw leap and tense to hide a smile. She’d never seen anyone like Voldemort before in her life; skin paler than her white wedding dress and frighteningly red eyes. For one so powerful, his voice was eerily high, and made the skin on her neck crawl, but he spoke so forcefully and assuredly that he held the entire room captivated with his words. He was like a snake-charmer, his tongue weaving a pattern of the Malfoys’ perfection for the entire audience to hear. Narcissa felt like royalty at that moment, her long blonde hair falling in flawlessly formed ringlets around her alabaster shoulders and a garland of flowers plaited into the crown of her head. It was with rue that she had finally combed her hair through---wishing that the night could have lasted forever. Catching her reflection in the glass cabinet, she smiled, pleased that only a year and some odd days had passed since that day and she still maintained her beauty. Lucius was seven years senior to her nineteen, but he had a cold handsomeness to him that was beyond any kind of number.

“Your tea, mistress,” Dobby cooed softly from behind her, and Narcissa turned around sharply, about to snap, but softened slightly at the look of abject terror in his illuminated green orbs. “Thank you,” she forced herself to say stiffly, her own blue eyes resting on him. “Don’t iron your fingers, Dobby,” she added indifferently, taking a sip of the tea he’d prepared. “I fixed the plate.”

“Dobby would have fixed it,” the house elf said, in what she thought was a tone of excitement.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she managed to snap coldly. She had remembered the house elf’s last attempt at fixing one of her vases after Lucius had inadvertently walked into the pedestal it was standing on in a hurry to attend to ministry business. It was now in their basement---she couldn’t bear to part with it, but Lucius couldn’t bear to see it---after it had been terribly scorched by Dobby’s magic. “Can you manage to clean our dining room? I would like to eat in there tonight,” she directed him.

Dobby bent low again, and disappeared with a faint crack to no doubt dust the chandelier and shine their mahogany table until she could see herself in it. Narcissa sighed again, hands straying toward her stomach. Imagine how wonderful it would be to have another person sitting at the dinner table with them both, even if only a tiny child. 

Narcissa paced the house for the rest of the day restlessly, not quite sure how to pass her time. Even her book couldn’t quite capture her interest for long enough, and she felt her mind wander back and forth between the lines of the text. If the day hadn’t turned stormy, perhaps she would have taken a walk around the grounds, but there was really no fun in doing so alone anyway. The house was so empty when Lucius was at work---occasionally Bella or Adrienne would visit but it was impossible to ask them to do so every day---and Narcissa spent the time watching the clock’s hands for his return. So, when the lock on the door clicked open, she found herself running down the stairs and straight into his arms, kissing him deeply and passionately.

Lucius made a noise of surprise in the back of his throat, but held her tightly, and she finally broke away to smile.

“How was your day, Narcissa?” he said somewhat formally, looking like a bird with fair, ruffled feathers.

“It was fine,” she murmured in response, gently fumbling with the snake clasp of his robes. They were sprinkled with rain, she noticed. Lucius brushed her hands off of himself, turning in a flurry to hang the robes upon the coat wrack where they belonged. Narcissa frowned, but said nothing, waiting for him to finish undressing. She held her hands out toward him and he took them in one of his own his other hand resting on the small on her back.

“You look lovely,” he said finally and Narcissa turned a slight pink, but shook blonde hair out of her eyes proudly, wondering what had brought on the sudden surge of affection. Still, she pressed her body tightly against his, and perhaps it was her imagination, but she felt something stir in the pit of her stomach.

\-- 

 

**Late January, 1980**

                 Time passed as uneventfully as ever, but every morning Narcissa woke was like a blessing. She’d never felt such a feeling of hope in her whole life, nor such a sense of anticipation. Every time Lucius saw her smile broadly at his return, he would close his eyes in relief, kissing her and holding her more tenderly than they’re wedding night. She had begun to feel exceedingly sick, and though she worried that she might miscarry again, her brow remained cool and a fever never developed like last time. She felt as though she had run a mile every time she stood, her head swimming dangerously so that she had to sit. But the sensation was far from unwelcome---Narcissa could have been happier with every bit of nausea. But however awfully she felt, she refused to complain to Lucius in the small amount of time he could spare from working at the ministry. The had few moments together; becoming irritable and snapping at him for whatever reason would not be acceptable at all even if a child was on the way. She didn’t even speak to him of it---feeling that the minute that she would part her lips to speak of it she would wake up from this wonderful, albeit uncomfortable dream.

                 Narcissa waited and watched her body change, for almost four months on pins and needles, eager to feel the swell of a child beneath her hands, so that Lucius could feel what she did---small stirrings of life that would be purely theirs. They had reached an unspoken truce about it, but she saw his smile when she refused the rich red wine she would usually have sampled. And then one day, though there was nothing else particularly unusual or out of the ordinary, it was there.

 

“LUCIUS!” she screeched from the bathroom, wrenching the door open furiously. Her hair was wet and plastered against the back of her neck, dark compared to the usual pale blonde. 

 

“What?” he bellowed back from where he sat on the bed. He folded the Daily Prophet exasperatedly, pursing his lips in annoyance so that his pale eyebrows nearly disappeared beneath his hairline.

 

“Look,” Narcissa beckoned in frustration “Please!” she added as an afterthought, clutching her towel. She was shaking in excitement, her other hand turning the handle on the doorknob back and forth. Lucius neatly folded the paper he had been reading and set it down on her pillow. The slow and deliberate way he moved would lead anyone to believe he was much older than twenty-six, but he smoothed his hair and made his way over to the bathroom door, leaning slightly on the doorframe.

 

“What is it Narcissa?” he asked in the tone one would ask a child who had a nightmare. He studied her towel clad form lazily before his eyes widened nervously. “You didn’t---are you---?” he stuttered finally, searching her legs and the floor for blood.

“No!” Narcissa grabbed him frantically by the shoulders, pulling him further into the bathroom. Though slightly abashed, she allowed her towel to crumple on the floor. Still shaking, she took Lucius’ hands and pressed them firmly against her abdomen. His eyes traveled down her enlarged breasts down to where his hands rested and he frowned slightly.

 

“Don’t you feel it?” Narcissa pleaded, pressing his hands harder. She watched his steel grey eyes search her face nervously. “What the---?” he began, in obvious discomfort. “Is that a… _baby_?” he asked uncertainly and she felt his fingers move back and forth, lighter now, exploring the tiny bump she had noticed. She was blinking back tears as he broke into one of the most genuine smiles she had ever seen on his face---bright and unyielding. She nodded, hugging him tightly around the neck as hard as she possibly could and Lucius pressed his jaw sharply against her head as he picked her up off the ground, almost squeezing the breath from her lungs. “Thank Merlin,” she heard him say almost inaudibly, while the daily prophet lay neglected---long forgotten by its reader.

 


End file.
